


perfect

by wholiveswhodieswhowritesyourfanfic



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Picnics, Post-Canon, Slow Dancing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, this is so self indulgent im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 03:17:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10152290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholiveswhodieswhowritesyourfanfic/pseuds/wholiveswhodieswhowritesyourfanfic
Summary: Baby, I'm dancing in the dark, with you between my armsBarefoot on the grass, listening to our favorite songI have faith in what I seeNow I know I have met an angel in person





	

**Author's Note:**

> look, I've been listening to divide on repeat and I had to do something okay  
> (inspired by perfect by ed sheeran)

_Baby, I'm dancing in the dark, with you between my arms_  
_Barefoot on the grass, listening to our favorite song_  
_I have faith in what I see_  
_Now I know I have met an angel in person_

The two of them sat alone together, on a hill just far away enough from the stately home that it was a dot on the horizon, but not so distant that Percival feared for the safety of their apparition. His boy -- no, _his beautiful young man --_ lay in the long grass, the thin blades tickling the soles of his feet. He was preoccupied with a large host of sparrows flying overhead, their dark bodies sprinkled generously throughout the evening sky, and Percival selfishly stole the moment to stare. Credence’s hair had finally grown out of its hideous cut and it lay around his head like a dark, wavy halo. Weeks of having proper meals thrice a day filled out his figure, and he no longer appeared hunched. He lay with his arms extended above his head, pulling his baggy sweater up just enough to expose a thin sliver of pale midriff. It was one of Percival’s old Ilvermorny jumpers, with a small wampus motif on the left breast. If his memory was correct, it also bore the name “Graves” in large, red lettering on its back. The thought made something in his chest swell with pride.

Percival puffed out a contented sigh. It was perhaps the first time since, well, _before Grindelwald,_ he felt something close to contentment, and he privately revelled in it. Credence cast him a glance with a smile from the grass where he lay. Returning the gesture, he turned to the hamper by his side and unpacked a simple meal for them to share.

Credence sat upright, stretching his limbs with a tiny moan that didn’t go unnoticed by his partner, who smirked in his direction.

“Come on,” Percival beckoned, and they ate together, finding sandwiches and fruit inside the tin foil swans Credence had insisted on folding earlier in the morning, when Percival had suggested a picnic for tea and he had plodded into his arms, bedhead and all, saying, “Yeah, Percy, I’d love to.” Credence ate slowly and Percival teased when more jam found the area surrounding his lips than his actual mouth. It didn’t last; soon enough he was extending an arm and wiping it away with a gentle thumb.

Despite his speed, Credence finished first and he removed Percival’s shoes and socks while he finished his apple.

“Oh Merlin, you don’t have to,” Percival protested, but Credence had already started rubbing into the arches of his feet with no intention to stop. Realising this, Percival allowed himself to lie back, letting the grass stroke his bare neck. He hummed gently to himself as Credence applied more pressure to his soles.

The sun had mostly set when Percival stood up, and with a flick of his wrist, turned on the Victrola stowed at the bottom of his hamper. A simple, slow tune rang out, one of his favourites from before the war, before everything.

“Oh, Percy, you didn’t,” Credence stammered. Percival just smiled. He couldn’t remember when Credence stated calling him Percy but he never wanted him to stop. With an arm extended for Credence to hold, he pulled him up. Stumbling, the young man fell into Percival’s chest.

“Mercy Lewis, look at you,” Percival mumbled reverently. Look he did, with the sun behind the trees on the horizon and the sky a melange of reds and orange, Credence looked nothing short of heavenly.

Percival Graves had met an angel in the flesh, and his name was Credence Barebone.

The music played on as Percival and Credence danced in the grass. Percival found blades of it in his lover’s hair, and one by one, he picked them out carefully, letting the breeze carry them away. Credence, they had found, was the taller of the pair, and in some strange way it made Percival want to protect him.

“Percy,” Credence began, looking down just a touch, but he did not finish, for Percival reached up himself and closed the gap between them with his lips. It seemed to be exactly what he was looking for: a small, soft sound escaped his mouth and found Percival’s, who smiled and extended his arms so his hands tangled in his partner’s hair.

Breaking their kiss, Credence rested his forehead on Percival's. They breathed the same air for a few seconds, and quietly, Credence murmured for only his partner to hear:

“I love you, Percy.”


End file.
